


Change Arrangements

by agapes



Series: Got Well Soon [1]
Category: Hamlet - All Media Types, Hamlet - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chance Meetings, Crush at First Sight, First Meetings, M/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 18:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19408840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agapes/pseuds/agapes
Summary: Hamlet, he would think to himself sometimes. Hamlet, Hamlet, Hamlet. The name bounced around in his head. He wanted to know more about him, to sit next to him and trade facts about each other and talk until early in the morning.-Hamlet and Horatio meet at Wittenberg... several times.





	Change Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

> yall ever been smitten since day one?

There was someone else in the laundry room.

Normally, this wouldn't be too strange of a thing. It was a weekday, sure, but there was always somebody on the floor doing laundry; if not someone from this floor, then someone sneaking up from one of the floors that only had one washer.

No, what was strange was that it was four in the morning.

Horatio was bleary-eyed from studying all night when he dragged his laundry bag down the hall and pushed open the laundry room door. The fact that the lights were on wasn't a shock, but he had already closed the door and fully immersed himself into the situation when he realized that he was not alone.

A boy Horatio's age was standing in front of one of the washers and wearing a thoroughly perplexed expression, one hand on his laundry bag and the other flitting awkwardly over the surface of the machine. He was clearly unsure of what to do, which was funny until he jumped about a foot in the air when he saw Horatio standing in front of the door.

He was thin and pale, almost lanky but shorter than Horatio, and he wore an oversized black tee shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants with the name and mascot of some middle school on the side. There was an expression of shock, bordering fear, on his face as he made eye contact.

Forcing a smile, Horatio pushed his glasses up and said, "Not gonna lie, I didn't really expect anyone else to be in here at this time."

A smile that looked more like a grimace crossed the boy's face. "There usually isn't." It slide away almost immediately. "I'll just... I'll just leave you to it, then." He lifted his laundry bag and made a strange move where he shifted his feet and turned his shoulders toward the door but didn't actually cover any distance; he would have to pass Horatio to get through the door.

"Oh, you don't have to leave." Horatio gestured to the washers. "They're both empty."

"Yeah," the boy said. "Right."

Sneaking one quick glance sideways, Horatio took a step forward and knelt to start loading his laundry while the boy did the same with slow, awkward movements.

The silence hung in the air and Horatio cleared his throat and stood up to add the detergent pod and place his room card on the washer. He tried to make small talk, but it felt physically painful. "So, uh. Why're you doing laundry so late at night? Or, well, early in the morning, I guess."

The boy's hands slowed and he glanced up. He had, Horatio noticed, two different colored eyes; the left was dark brown while the other was pale green. "I don't sleep," he said plainly, and Horatio couldn't tell how serious he was being. "What about you?"

"I was studying," Horatio said. "Lost track of the time. I probably kept my roommate up now that I think about it, I feel bad about that. He needs his sleep, he's taking some pretty rough classes and he's got his job, so..." He couldn't keep the words from spilling out.

"Mhm." The boy leaned back onto his heels and pushed the washing machine shut. With the return of the silence, Horatio was strongly inclined to leave, but the boy just sat there, brow gradually furrowing as he glanced between Horatio's washer and his own.

Then the gears clicked into place, and Horatio had to bite back laughter. "Do you... not know how to use a washer?"

"Of course I do!" The boy snapped, jumping abruptly to his feet. His face scrunched up. "No, that was a lie. I don't."

Horatio stifled laughter, and the boy's scowl deepened. "Sorry, sorry. I can show you how, if you want. So you don't flood the room," he added unnecessarily.

Lips twisting, the boy seemed to be wrestling with his pride. "Fine," he said finally.

"Alright." Horatio took a slow step toward him. "I assume you have some sort of detergent?" The boy produced a blue laundry pod from his pocket. "Alright, so you just open this—"

As Horatio showed this black-haired mystery boy how to use a washing machine, he was hyper-aware of every one of his own movements, of the slight sweatiness of his palms, of every bump of their shoulders. It was not a new or strange feeling, but it was unwelcome. Nothing good ever came out of feelings like these. Still, he knew he was blushing, if the heat of his face was any indication, and he could only hope that the boy wouldn't notice.

"And that's how you do it." Horatio pressed start on the washer.

"Huh." The boy scrutinized the machine. "Easier than I thought it was." There were bags under his eyes that were incredibly noticeable when he looked up at Horatio. "Thank you."

"Of course. And hey, if you need help with the dryer, just stop by 409," he joked.

That earned him a smile. "Of course, of course."

They stood in silence before Horatio added, "My name is Horatio, by the way."

"Horatio." His name sounded just right on the boy's lips. "Nice to meet you, Horatio."

A beat of silence followed where Horatio waited for the boy to give his own name, but only offered a thin half-smile and took a step toward the door.

They walked out of the laundry room together, then parted with a series of tired waves down opposite ends of the hall.

Horatio could think of nothing else as he waited in his room for the washer to finish. His vision was haunted by scruffy black hair and tired mismatched eyes and pale hands with long, thin fingers, images that appeared even when his eyes were open. It was all he could do not to wake Romeo and subject him to four AM boy-talk.

Figures that this would happen; in school for no more than a month—freshmen year at his top university, at that—and he already found himself caught up at first sight in some mystery pretty-boy who didn't know how to use a washing machine.

Groaning internally, Horatio sank down in his chair and leaned over his desk. He put his face in his hands—

—and woke up to his alarm at seven, lurching up with the realization that his laundry must have been sitting in the washing unattended for hours.

—

As the weather got colder the following week, Horatio found it progressively easier to keep his mind off the boy, who he had taken to calling Mr. Washing Machine in his head since apparently he hadn't felt the need to share his name. For someone who lived in the same building on the same floor as him, they never saw each other. Which was good, of course, considering that he really _shouldn't_ devote any energy at all to Mr. Washing Machine. Nothing good ever came out of these things. Fortunately, Horatio's classes amped up the amount of work and he quickly found that he didn't have the spare brain power to think about him/

Until.

The Tuesday following the laundry room incident, Horatio decided on a whim to head to the library at six o'clock after his last class of the day. The idea put a spring in his step as he made the short walk through the rain; he would squirrel himself away in some corner on the top floor, play some good music, and work ahead as much as he could for the hours to come. Besides, Juliet was staying the night, and Horatio was in the mood for some peace and quiet.

(It wasn't that he disliked Juliet— he could never. It was just one of those says where he didn't really feel like existing in a small room with the Romeo-Juliet dream team.)

Warm air welcomed him into the library, and he happily ascended his usual route through the old building.

There was a spot on his favorite floor—the fifth floor, the silent study floor—in the classics section that Horatio had essentially claimed as his own during the first week. It was his own little hidey-hole consisting of an old office chair and a solid wooden desk wedged between shelves of old books written in and about older languages. The chair squeaked when it was spun and there was graffiti written on and carved into the table, but it had a window that looked over the university's main square and it felt like his own.

Horatio was tying his hair back as he rounded the corner, smile growing on his face only for it to fall right off and for his jaw to actually drop in shock.

The boy from the laundry room was _here,_ in Horatio's space, lounging on the floor against one of the desk legs, a book in his lap. His eyes snapped up to Horatio's face the second he slammed to a halt at the end of the aisle; they were just as he remembered, one green and one brown, brilliant in their contrast. _Heterochromia,_ Horatio thought vaguely, _that's the work for it._

"Fancy seeing you here," Horatio said, then immediately felt like an idiot. He hoped the warmth that overcame his face wasn't manifested in a blush.

The boy laughed. He looked just as tired as he had at four in the morning last week. "I'd say not really, since this is the library," he said, "but this is kind of an off-the-grid spot for most people. Now, as you can probably tell, I'm studying. What are _you_ doing here, Horatio?"

Again, with the way he said Horatio's name. "Well, this is kind of my, uh..." God, he was anything but confrontational. He just really wanted his usual spot. "I usually sit here. And I— I also came to study."

"Who could've guessed." It wasn't a question. "Well, feel free to take a seat, I won't be disturbing you." He lifted his book before dropping his eyes back down as if proving a point.

So Horatio did; he slipped into the aisle and stepped gingerly past the boy to settle down in the chair. It felt strange, sitting so close to someone he barely knew in a space so small, but he steeled himself and decided to deal with it.

He was just pulling out his laptop to work on an essay when a thought crossed his mind, and he found himself unable to think of anything else. "You didn't give me your name," Horatio said on impulse.

"Hm?"

"In the laundry room. I told you mine, but you never told me yours." 

"Oh." For the first time in their scattered conversation, the boy looked uncomfortable. Horatio couldn't see his face, but his shoulders hunched and he leaned into himself, just a little bit. "Well..." He paused, seeming to consider something, before saying, "Hamlet."

The name struck a familiar chord, but he couldn't place it. "Hamlet." Horatio said the name very carefully; it was a good one. "Nice to meet you." He reached down and they awkwardly shook hands.

Hamlet offered him a sideways glance up in his direction and a small smile before turning back to his book. "Nice to meet you, Horatio."

They sat in silence for a few hours, individually working on whatever they each had to do. A couple times Hamlet rose and retrieved a different book, but he always returned, settling right down next to Horatio. Once the sky outside had darkened completely and the moon hung just at the edge of the window, he realized how long they had been sitting there. It was ten, and he didn't want to make a ruckus if he came back to his room too late. So he began to pack his things slowly, waiting for Hamlet to notice.

He did soon enough, looking up when Horatio hefted his backpack into his lap. "You leaving?"

"Yeah." Horatio tugged the hair tie out of his hair; if he wasn't mistaken, Hamlet's eyes strayed from his face to watch his curls bounce around his jaw. "My roommate and his girlfriend are probably trying to fall asleep, and I don't want to come back too late and wake them up."

When Horatio stood up, Hamlet did as well. "Of course," he said, "trying to sleep." Before Horatio could respond, an indignant protest rising to his lips, he continued, "I should get going too. Last time I stayed too late in the library I fell asleep and the janitor was _not_ happy when she found me."

Horatio snickered and shouldered his backpack. "Nice. Believe it or not, I've done the same thing. I just love libraries. I never want to leave, especially not one as nice as this..."

They trailed into pleasant conversation about libraries, which soon developed into books in general, then to the study of literature. Horatio found that they had more in common than he would have originally guessed, and the walk back to their building under the black starry sky passed easily.

As they headed up the elevator and to their floor, Horatio found himself unwilling to part. They stood in the elevator lobby for a solid hour before the conversation trailed off and they acquiesced to the fact that they had to go opposite ways.

"I guess this is good night," Horatio said, tugging at the color of his shirt. When Hamlet looked him in the eye it was easy to see how much shorter—not just shorter, but smaller in general, all thin limbs and narrow shoulders—he was than Horatio.

"I guess it is." He paused. "Goodnight, then," Hamlet said, and he had a small smile on his face before he turned and walked down the hall.

"Goodnight," Horatio said, and it took him a moment to collect his thoughts and turn away.

It wasn't until Horatio was lying on his back in bed in the dark, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Romeo and Juliet's quiet breathing when he remembered with a jolt why the name Hamlet was so familiar; Hamlet was the prince of Denmark.

His _prince._ Hamlet, the boy who didn't know how to use a washing machine and sat alone on the floor in the classics section in the library was the _prince of Denmark._ His prince. Horatio's prince. Prince of the country Horatio was burned and raised in. Son of the king and queen of Denmark. He was _here,_ at Wittenberg, and he had run into Horatio not once but twice.

"Holy shit," Horatio whispered.

He felt a flash of unworthiness wash over him and turned to lay on his side. What was he _doing?_ He couldn't— he couldn't associate with Hamlet, he had to shut down these feelings of infatuation, this desire for friendship. Horatio's mother was dead, he didn't know his father, he could barely afford to go to school even with all the scholarships he had earned. Hamlet was a prince, a living, breathing _prince,_ with two living parents and a _castle_ and a trust fund bigger than what Horatio's tuition would end up costing.

While Horatio was already worrying about whether or not he'd be able to get a job over summer, Hamlet probably had time to spare thinking about which country he should vacation to after school gets out, maybe which study abroad course he should take.

But, no. Horatio closed his eyes. He shouldn't make assumptions, shouldn't compare himself, shouldn't think like that. As much as he wanted to, he didn't _know_ Hamlet.

He rolled over again. Through his eyelids he could see the flash of the smoke detector on the ceiling.

Then again, he considered, Hamlet seemed to find him worth his time.

The idea made him smile, just a little bit.

—

After their strange library study session, Hamlet and Horatio kept running into each other. At the coffee shop, between classes, in the dining hall. His presence in Horatio's mind only grew as the days passed. _Hamlet,_ he would think to himself sometimes. _Hamlet, Hamlet, Hamlet._ The name bounced around in his head wanted to know more about him, to sit next to him and trade facts about each other and talk until early in the morning.

Wherever he went, Hamlet was always alone, except for one Thursday.

Horatio was walking through campus' central square when he saw him. Hamlet was at one of the tables next to the fountain with his feet propped up on the bench, sitting next to a boy with blond hair. They had a computer open that they were both leaning over; neither of them had seen Horatio, but he found himself coming to a halt, watching them.

They boy said something that made Hamlet laugh, a loud, joyful sound that Horatio could hear from where he stood.

Steeling himself, Horatio walked over before his courage could abandon him.

He gave the pair a wide berth and skimmed his hand over the tabletop so as to not startle them; when Hamlet looked up and his eyes met Horatio's, his face split into a grin.

"Horatio!" Hamlet swung his feet off the bench and patted the spot next to him. "Come sit with us." Horatio sat carefully next to Hamlet and across from the other boy, whose eyes traced over his face before flicking away. He had curly, strawberry blond hair and pretty blue eyes, but the way he held himself was careless and lazy.

"Horatio, this is Rosencrantz," Hamlet continued. "Ros, this is my friend Horatio." A thrill went through Horatio's chest. Hamlet considered him a friend.

Rosencrantz lifted one hand in a half wave. "Hey." A sly smirk snuck onto his face. "This is the guy you were talking about?"

Hamlet elbowed him in the ribs while Horatio pretended to overlook the interaction. Rosencrantz , however, made this difficult.

"I pictured him a little taller, frankly. And you made his hair sound longer." Rosencrantz leaned over the table leaned over the table, his gaze scrutinizing. "Well, nice to meet you, Horatio. What are you studying?"

"Physics major and philosophy minor," he said carefully, sparing a glance at Hamlet, who was giving Rosencrantz the stink eye. "You?"

"Behavioral neuroscience major, undecided minor." He yawned. "Neurosci is a pretty hard program to get into, but I'm not worried at the moment."

Horatio would never admit that he was quite shocked that someone like Rosencrantz and his clear devil-may-care attitude would be studying something as intense as neuroscience. "Wow," he said. He didn't have to pretend to be impressed. "That's super cool. Neuroscience alone sounds like a handful."

"Maybe a little, but I've been interested in this kind of stuff for ages." Rosencrantz checked his phone, clearly irritated. "Guilly's skipping Comm today, he's gonna work on an essay for another class in the library."

Without having to say anything, Hamlet tilted his head in Horatio's direction and said, "Guildenstern is another friend of mine. Ros totally has a thing for him."

"Excuse me!" Ros' voice cracked. "I do _not!_ "

"You absolutely do," Hamlet countered, "As much as you love to deny it. You're not fooling anybody."

Ros could only sputter. "You don't—that's not—I—Frankly this is homophobia—"

Hamlet just laughed. "Oh look, there's Guil."

Ros must have given himself whiplash with how fast he jerked his head around. "Not funny!"

Hamlet practically cackled, but was interrupted when the screen of his phone lit up. He snatched it up eagerly and stuck his arms out over the table as he answered a FaceTime call. Ros immediately leaned in and placed his chin on Hamlet's shoulder, which definitely did _not_ spark any jealousy in Horatio.

The girl who appeared on the screen must have been around their age, Horatio figured, maybe a year younger at most. She had a round, smiling face with dimples, framed with long black hair and set with pretty, dark eyes that lit up when she saw Hamlet.

"Ham!" Her voice was joyful.

"Phe!" Hamlet leaned further over the table.

"Told you I called you."

"Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

"Yeah, kind of." She widened her smile, showing off a wire along her top teeth. "I had to go get my retainer fixed. Laertes is home, so he was able to drive me. Say hi, Laertes!" The phone turned to reveal the person in the driver's seat of the car she was in; he was tall and lean, with black hair cropped shorter than Hamlet's and he was wearing a pale teal sweater that Horatio was a big fan of. He took one glance at the screen and rolled his eyes.

"Hello, Rosencrantz," he said.

Ros grinned, but Hamlet said, "Still a bitch as always, Laertes." The man just rolled his eyes again, and the phone turned back to the girl.

"Who's that?" Her eyes met Horatio's, who was leaning over Hamlet's other shoulder.

"Oh, right, right, sorry." Hamlet tilted the phone to venter on Horatio, who smiled awkwardly. "This is Horatio, my friend from school." There it was again— _friend._ "Horatio, this is Ophelia. We practically grew up together. And the bitch driving the car is her brother."

Ophelia gave him a wave. "Good to meet you, Horatio— well, kind of, but you know what I mean. Hamlet was—"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Hamlet said loudly, and Ophelia started laughing. "That's good, that's good!"

"Don't be rude, Hamlet," she said, and in the background Laertes said, "Yeah, Hamlet, don't be fucking rude. That's my sister you're talking to."

"I'm really sorry you've had the misfortune of interacting with Laertes, Horatio." Hamlet's voice was solemn. "I apologize for putting a damper on your day."

"Fuck you," came Laertes' voice through the phone.

"He's flipping you off," Ophelia said, "you just can't see it."

Horatio laughed along with the others, and sat and listened to Hamlet and Ophelia's easy banter. Occasionally Rosencrantz chimed in, but he seemed more invested in his phone.

It was nice, just sitting outside under the sun and listening to the sound of Hamlet's voice. Horatio found himself smiling without meaning to; he dropped his backpack to the ground at some point, and relaxed forward, leaning his shoulders into the conversation.

He ended up late to class, but for once didn't mind it.

—

Something must have clicked that day, because the next time they ran into each other, Hamlet asked for Horatio's number.

He was standing in line at the cafe in the library at about eight-thirty in the morning, fully zoning out, when someone approached him from the corner of his vision. Horatio safely assumed that it was just someone random looking at the menu, until he felt a small tap on his shoulder and heard a familiar voice.

"Fancy seeing you here."

Hamlet was wearing his typical suit of all black; today, it was a faded My Chemical Romance tee shirt under a black denim jacket with matching jeans. The remnants of black polish clung to his nails, and he was holding one of the cafe's coffee cups.

"Hey! How's it going?" Admittedly, Horatio's heart jumped at the sight of Hamlet's smile.

Hamlet shrugged good-naturedly. "It's college, you know how it goes. Could be worse, could be better. You?"

"Well, uh— nothing new, I mean, classes are hard but, that's not it is." He shrugged.

"Right, right." Hamlet shifted his weight. "This is kind of random, but I was wondering if I could get your number."

"Oh." What he said took a moment to register. "Oh!" In those heartbeats, Horatio would later swear that his brain shorted out, and he blurted, "Why?"

"I'm not good at making friends, but you seem like someone worth sticking around." Hamlet made it sound so simple, so obvious.

Horatio felt himself flush, and ruffled a hand self-consciously through his hair. "Yeah, I— Yeah. Yes, of course." Hamlet unlocked his phone, and Horatio listed his number.

"Awesome." Hamlet flashed a grin. "I should go, I've got homework to finish before class. But I'll see you later, yeah? And," he held up his phone, "we have the power of technology now."

"Yeah, yeah." Horatio floundered for a minute before managing, "I'll see you later, then."

"You will," Hamlet said, and Horatio couldn't tell if it was intentionally vague. Cryptic or not, he flashed a bright smile and a wave, and turned around and left.

Thank God no one was behind him in line; Horatio stood perfectly still and watched Hamlet's back as he walked out. When he snapped back to reality, there was a good six feet between him and the person in front of him. One of the workers behind the counter shot him an odd glance before continuing with their work.

Horatio gave himself a little shake before stepping forward to order; the process was addled as he stumbled over words, most of his braincells having left the building with Hamlet. Thankfully the barista was patient with him, and interpreted his stuttering and rambling well enough.

Just before handing back his student ID card, the barista, whose name tag read "Cordelia," paused, and gave him a once over. "That was Hamlet, right? The prince of Denmark?"

"Uh— yeah. It was." Horatio could see no point in lying, but burned with curiosity. "Why?"

Cordelia the barista shrugged. "Just thought I recognized him. Our fathers have worked together before." She passed him his ID. "Have a nice day."

"Thanks, you too."

After picking up his drink, Horatio left for class, somehow more distracted than before.

Out of the library and into the rain, through the campus' main square, up a small hill, pass the metal sculpture and then the wood one where everyone sits on sunny days, hang a left into one of Wittenberg's largest lecture halls.

Horatio took his usual aisle seat a few rows away from the front and pulled the pen and journal he used to take notes from his backpack. It was too early for this, it was always too early for this, but he had a warm drink and a fully charged phone, and every day those had to be enough to keep him awake.

Trying not to slouch in his seat, Horatio scrolled idly through his phone, browsing social media and only half paying attention until something caught his eye; a text popped up.

**— _Unknown Number_** _(8:47AM)  
hey it's hamlet_

An electric shock sparked through Horatio's chest, and he sent an embarrassing about of time gathering the courage he needed to respond.

**—** _(8:55AM)  
Hey! I'd ask what's up but we just saw each other lmao_

**— _Hamlet_** _(8:56AM)  
good point_

_i assume you're in class by now?_

**—** _(8:56AM)  
Yep, just waiting for the prof to start. Not that I'm looking forward to class actually starting but it really be like that_

As soon as he pressed send, Horatio squeezed his eyes shut and mentally groaned. _It really be like that?_ Surely Hamlet was laughing at him; who said stuff like that? It was stupid. He wasn't thinking. When a new notification popped up, it startled him.

**— _Hamlet_** _(8:57AM)  
you're so right_

_dare i say it really do be like that_

Grey bubbles popped up as Horatio watched the screen, then paused for a moment before a new message came through.

**— _Hamlet_** _(8:58AM)  
your class is gonna start soon and i've got work to do before mine but let's chat later!_

Something about the use of the exclamation mark made Horatio's heart feel warm, and he typed out his reply.

**—** _(8:59AM)  
Ugh you're right but I wish you weren't. Good luck with your work_

_**— Hamlet** (9:00AM)  
see you soon_

Horatio set his phone down, and couldn't stop smiling throughout class.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading be sure to like share comment and subscribe


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